


Every Version Of You

by dismiss_your_fearsx



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Edith deserves to happy, F/M, Film Spoilers, Fluff, Post-Film, and so Bertie has an idea, in which I fix Bertie's characterisation in the movie lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismiss_your_fearsx/pseuds/dismiss_your_fearsx
Summary: Bertie surprises Edith.





	Every Version Of You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! This is my first ever Downton Abbey fic, which is wild seeing as I've followed the show for 6 years, but here we are. Any feedback from hardcore Bedith shippers/experienced Downton fic writers would be greatly appreciated! <3 Hope you enjoy xo

“Careful, darling,” Bertie warned without heat as Edith stumbled over the corner of a thick rug in the hallway; he caught her with ease. 

“It should be much easier to be careful if you would let me take this blindfold off,” Edith pointed out. 

With a soft smile, Bertie continued to gently pull her hands along the corridor. “We’ll take it off in a minute.” 

“You said that five minutes ago,” she argued in typical Crawley-like fashion. Realising she had long ago lost her bearings in the vastness of her new home, Edith asked: “Where are we?” 

Her question went unanswered for almost ten seconds until they came to a stop; Bertie turned a doorknob and the door groaned open, a not-unpleasant draught blowing out of it. Edith could not see her husband but she could sense a grin on his face, she wrinkled her brows and reached up to pull down the silken scarf which he had fashioned into a blindfold twenty minutes ago. 

Bertie caught her hands and tutted, chuckling quietly. “Not yet,” he cautioned, “come on.” He pulled on her hands and led her into the room. 

Her heels clicked against the wooden floor, the sound of which echoed around the sunny room. Around her she felt the presence of objects, but when she extended her hands she found them indiscernibly out of her reach. Suddenly, they came to a stop.

“Can you please tell me what’s going on now?” Edith wondered, impatience flavouring her tone. 

A laugh. “Alright,” Lord Hexham relented, untying the scarf; Edith squinted at the harsh change of light before familiar objects came clearly into her vision. 

“What- what on earth is all this?” she wondered breathlessly. The room was well-lit, sparkling clean, with a lit fire, which sent weak shadows dancing about the warm yellow walls. In front of the fire place sat a chaise-lounge, two arm chairs and a coffee table; the rest of the room looked like her old office in London.

Bertie led her first over to the oak desk, on top of which neatly lay a diary, pens, pencils, paper, a typewriter, among other things. He rested his hand on the small of her back.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said when we were at Downton,” he explained, “about your life not being your own anymore, or something to that effect.” Edith opened her mouth to protest what she thought he was implying. “So, I thought this,” he motioned to the desk and the other writing and printing equipment in the room, “might help a little. I know our lives were much less complicated when I was simply Bertie, the agent, and you were Lady Edith as opposed to our being Marquess and Marchioness of Hexham, but unfortunately there’s very little to be done about that now. Nevertheless, I thought - I hoped - that on occasion, more so once the child is born, you might like to be an editor, or perhaps have a weekly or monthly column in _ The Sketch _, or some other magazine. Perhaps a return to former Edith shall help to balance the responsibilities of new Edith? I should like to add that I love every version of you.” He smiled at her. “I know how you hate to be idle or to put so much time into something your heart is not set on, so I thought a room of escapism, of sorts, may help with that,” Bertie concluded, glancing hopefully at his wife.

When he saw tears trickling down her face, his heart fell. “Oh, God, I’ve upset you,” he fretted, chewing on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, my darling. It’s alright, I can send it all back. In fact, I’m sure _ The Newcastle Times _ would appreciate the equipment and- and perhaps the children could use this room as a playroom,” he babbled.

“You haven’t upset me,” Edith reassured with a sniffle and a watery smile; Bertie wrinkled his brows in both relief and confusion. Lady Hexham went on: “It’s just... all my life… I never thought I would have something like this, someone like you.” She placed her hands on the lapels of his jacket. “Someone who- who knows me, who cares for me, cares what I think, how I feel, what I like…” Bertie took one of her hands and kissed it; Edith then gently ran it through his combed hair. “You really are a darling,” she gushed, cupping his face. "Thank you," she murmured, before leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing him. 

He returned her kiss with equal enthusiasm. Once they broke, Bertie asked: “Would you like to see the rest of the room?” 

Edith nodded and ambled around the forgotten room in the east wing, which Bertie had spent the last two months tirelessly and secretly converting into a writer’s haven just for her. She ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the Roland press and the stack of inspiration on the editing table, before being drawn to its contents. After a careful flick through some of the magazines, and old articles from _The Sketch_, an idea suddenly struck Edith about a weekly column she might begin writing soon: one on motherhood - how to balance its joys and trials. Perhaps other women, of all classes, could write in their experiences and a community of sorts might be created. Perhaps she might even do so at a local level. She shuffled a few blank pieces of paper and imagined some drawings and subheadings which might soon appear on them. Yes, yes, this room would do nicely, indeed.

“Darling,” Bertie said suddenly, interrupting her scheming thoughts, “do you remember that day we stayed up until 4 o’clock to finish your magazine after your editor quit?” 

Edith laughed at the memory. “Of course!” She could not recall being more stressed out in her entire life, and Bertie was so helpful at bringing coffee and cakes and sandwiches and offering his opinion before things went to the press. Edith then paused, a soft smile colouring her features. “You told me I inspired you,” she remembered. 

“You still inspire me.” 

A scoff-laugh. “What a load of nonsense,” Lady Hexham dismissed with a light eye-roll and a smile. 

“You do,” Bertie insisted, wrapping his arms around her waist, the small swell of their growing child distancing them more than usual. “Shall I tell you why?” 

“Go on, then,” Edith granted breezily, dangling her arms around his neck.

He pulled her closer to him. “Because you take everything, _ absolutely everything _ , in your stride. This past year I have felt like a fish out of water, suffocating under the weight of the title I inherited and the responsibilities that came with it.” Edith brushed his arm in comfort. “But _you_, you just found the tide and began again. Every time something new demanded your attention, or some large dinner needed arranging, or this or that needed to be done or seen to, you would do so as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Even when you’d much rather have been doing something else, it never once prevented you from doing that particular thing - and doing it to perfection - no matter how thankless the task. Truly, I'm in awe of your tenacity.”

“Sweetheart, you really are determined to make me cry today,” Edith accused with shining eyes. 

“Please, don’t cry,” Bertie pleaded with a small smile. “Or I shall feel I’ve done a bad job at convincing you of how wonderful you are.” 

“I can’t help it,” she insisted with a slight sniffle. “It’s the hormones.” She delicately ran a hand over her small-but-growing bump; how lovely it was to be open about this pregnancy, to feel _ sure _and happy about it. “At any rate, it’s your doing,” Edith then naughtily implied.

A light blush appeared on Bertie’s cheeks before a smirk gradually formed on his features. “How very uncouth of you, Lady Hexham,” he ironically reprimanded. 

In return, Lady Hexham replied: “In this room, I am Lady Edith.”

“Well, then, Lady Edith, would you allow me to be Bertie Pelham, the agent, for a moment and tell you that I am bally well proud of such a job?” he flirted. 

Edith laughed so hard her sides began to ache, the musical sound floating into the air and echoed off the room’s yellow-papered walls. “It was a job well done.” 

Bertie smiled at his radiant wife. Radiantly happy, just as she should be. “Shall we fetch some tea?” he wondered as he heard her stomach lightly rumble.

A sigh. “I don’t want to leave,” Edith said, running her hand over the clean paper and cut-out newspaper clippings. 

“It will still be here after we have tea and biscuits,” Bertie pointed out with a chuckle. 

Edith linked her arm through his and slowly began to lead them out of what was now her favourite room in their house. And it was a big house. “It had better be there _ forever _. I have plans, you know,” she told her husband, thinking of all the wonderful things the future held.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he murmured as their feet hit the carpeted ground of the corridor once again. “Am I to be included in your plans?” 

“Darling, you are at the top of my list. Well, second, actually,” Edith then amended with a grin, “after the children.” 

Bertie breathed a laugh and returned her smile as they continued on their way. “Do you know, I have always preferred silver to gold.”


End file.
